Wild Madder and Reckless Horse
by Penderghast
Summary: "Some nameless muscle pulses beneath his throat as Ranma watches her through the darkness, love bursting from the pit of his gut." A series of drabbles chronicling the evolution of Ranma and Akane's burgeoning relationship, starting near the conclusion of the manga.
1. Bayankala

Summary: A series of drabbles chronicling the evolution of Ranma and Akane's burgeoning relationship, starting near the conclusion of the manga

 **I. Bayankala**

* * *

Later on, when the lamplight runs out and the others have fallen asleep, he turns on his side and reaches for her. Akane rolls over at his touch. Ranma strokes the curl of her ear, holding his breath.

"What is it?" she asks him. Back at the springs her whole body had felt cool in his arms, but now she radiated warmth even above the covers. Nothing frightened him more than the sight of her like that, limp and inanimate even as he clung so desperately to her. Ranma never had any practice at feeling helpless before, not for someone else's sake. Even thinking about it now made his stomach lurch in frustration.

"I don't know," he starts, then reconsiders his words. "I just wanted to look at you a little, I guess." Akane's face softens at that. Her eyes get all glassy and dreamlike and before Ranma can say anything else she's wiping her brow and sniffling into the sleeve of his shirt.

"Jeez, what'd I do?"

"Nothing!" she squeaks, swatting him away. "But you can't just say things like that and not expect a girl to react."

"Even a girl like you?" Ranma teases. Some nameless muscle pulses beneath his throat as he watches her through the darkness, love bursting from the pit of his gut.

"An uncute girl, you mean."

"Shut up," he laughs. Ranma pulls her to him again. Even ruddy and wet, her cheek still fits the mold of his palm perfectly. He rest his lips against Akane's forehead and exhales, relieved. "You're cute, tomboy."

* * *

AN: Takes place only a few days after the infamous events at Jusendo, before Ranma and Akane leave China.


	2. Naannichuan

**II. Naannichuan**

* * *

Hours after the failed wedding, she finds him outside.

It's balmy and warm out on the veranda tonight. Every few seconds the blink of a firefly cuts through the shadows, illuminating the pond water ahead. The sight of the dojo's yard makes Akane feel strangely nostalgic for something, though what it is exactly she can't say.

Maybe it was summertime. Maybe it was the young man sitting next to her, perched like he was ready to strike out at the darkness.

"I can't believe your pops would try to pull something like that," Ranma frowns, "Using the Naannichuan to get you agree to this whole thing? That's low."

"Really?" Akane asks, drawing her knees up against her chest. "Seems like the type of thing both of our fathers would do."

"You should have told me straight away," he growls, makes a fist by his side. Ranma's knuckles are white where the skin has stretched out, his forearm tense and sinewy. "I could have swiped that barrel easily and avoided this whole mess."

Akane has no good answer for him, not really. Over the garden wall a siren blares down the street before disappearing around the corner, flashing red.

"I thought I was doing the right thing," she sighs, wraps her arms around herself. "Everyone has all these expectations of us, you know? It didn't seem right to let Dad and our families down again, not if meant you could finally get your wish."

"Akane-"

"I know it was stupid of me," she cuts him off, cheeks darkened. "You don't have to rub it in, you know."

"Don't be thick," He shakes his head and turns toward her. "I get it, okay? You don't have to explain it to me."

"Ranma?" She drags his name out slowly, hesitantly. Something heavy settles over his face. Akane bridges the gap between them, takes his calloused hand in her own. Neither of them look at one another, but sit in silence staring out into the night.

"Thanks for trying, at least," he says after a little while, voice low. She squeezes his fingers in reassurance, ignoring the ache in her chest.

* * *

AN: All these reviews have been so generous and observant I was actually kind of floored. Better yet, now I have all these new works and authors to indulge in once classes die down later this week.


	3. Komezu

**III. Komezu**

* * *

"Just hold still," Akane says, gingerly dabbing a swath of gauze on the gash above Ranma's eyebrow. The acrid smell of the disinfectant hits the smaller girl before the sting does, wrinkling her nose. Ranma flinches at the burn of the isopropyl. The bruise on her jaw blossoms in pain, blurring her vision.

"What are you rubbing on me, vinegar? That stuff smells awful."

"Don't be a baby," Akane chides. Her touch is clinical, the motions practiced. Ranma's long lost count of the amount of times her fiancee must have patched her up like this before. The routine of it stirs something familiar in the pigtailed girl, the nape of her neck suddenly much warmer. "You should know better than to pick a real fight with Happosai by now. Especially over something so silly."

"Gee thanks," Ranma barks, sore with pride. "I'm so glad I went out of my way to defend your honor!"

"I'm not saying I'm not grateful," Akane's expression is tender, her motions gentle even as she presses the gauze against Ranma's skin again. "But it's not worth you getting hurt. Not to me."

In retrospect it might have been an overreaction. Happosai had done no worse than usual, after all, raiding their clothesline during broad daylight in search of some sordid panty haul. Ranma chased him up all the way up to the roof, hopped over the loosened tiles to yank roughly at his pack. The sack had split at the seams before both of them, exploding in a flurry of fabric and lace.

To her horror most of it had turned out to be Akane's underwear, the intermixed clothing a dead giveaway. Happosai earned himself a real good beating after that, though not without sneaking in with a few choice counterblows.

"Old letch had it coming," Ranma grumbles, squeezing her eyes shut. Akane seals a fresh band-aid over the cut, sweeps her fingers across the redhead's bangs to examine her handiwork. A shiver rises up along Ranma's spine. Her lips tremble at the motion, betraying her.

"There you go," Akane hums, snapping shut her first-aid kid. She stops to brush Ranma's purpled chin, prompting her to open her eyes. "Good as new."

* * *

AN: I am such trash for Akane acting more affectionate/less guarded around Ranma's girl form. Absolute trash.


	4. Mitama Matsuri

**IV. Mitama Matsuri**

* * *

Akane's yukata is a dreamy blend of pink and coral, the obi a bright shade of orange. A ornamental bow pins part of her hair back, fastening a plastic sunflower in place. By the time she and Ranma leave the Yakashuni Shrine the nighttime portion of the festival has already begun. Thousands of lanterns line the main road on their walk back to the metro, interrupted only by the little stalls selling shaved ice and takoyaki.

Somewhere along the way they pass a group of student tourists loitering near a cloistered barfront. Akane accidentally makes eye contact with one of the taller ones, ducking her head away almost immediately. His appreciative whistle is followed by a chorus of drunken catcalls and slurred proclamations of adoration. The boorishness of it makes her blood boil, shoulders shaking with poor restraint.

Ranma's arm immediately snakes around her. His fingertips settle on the gap between her collarbone and neck, thumbing the fabric. Akane's eyes widen at the sensation. She becomes acutely aware of the flush now creeping up the lower half of her face, hot with shame and emotion.

Akane isn't bold enough to peek up at the glare Ranma throws the other men, but she guesses from the almost immediate cessation of their jeers that it must be pretty intimidating. Her heart is a lump in her throat. Her mouth feels dry and sticky too, the lips cracked.

"What was that all about?" she manages to ask him once they're both out of earshot.

"Ignore them," Ranma shakes his head, drawing his arm away. "Those kinds of idiots always try to harass pretty girls."

It was a stupid reason, really. He already knew she could handle herself just fine when caught in these sorts of situations. He'd seen her do it dozens of times over the course of their studies together at Furinkan, decking one overbearing suitor after another. Part of her wanted to tell him off for being so presumptuous, for underestimating her abilities like everyone else always did.

"Pretty girls?" is what she asks instead, awkwardly twiddling with her fingers so as if to avoid his gaze.

"Well yeah," Ranma starts, looks away as one of his hands reach up to scratch the back of his collar. "You know w-what I mean."

Akane says nothing at that, just tucks her mouth against the sleeve of her garment until her smile is properly hidden.

* * *

AN: Thank you again for all of the lovely and detailed reviews. I love hearing you guys express love and admiration for these two stubborn, lovestruck, hardheaded dummies almost as much as I love writing about them.


	5. Nichibotsu

**V. Nichibotsu**

* * *

The roof above Akane's room isn't always the best place to sulk, least of all when she can find him so damn easily. Ranma knew as soon as the ladder was propped up against the gutter it was her who had been looking for him.

"Nodoka-san told me what happened," she sighs, fanning out her skirt before sitting next to him. "Are you okay?"

It feels like a dumb question, especially when he's in such a sour, unforgiving mood. Ranma bites his tongue and says nothing. He purposely looks past her towards the sinking horizon, squints at the apartment complexes and fenced canals dotting Nerima's landscape.

"Ranma," she tries again, reaching for his hand. The gesture is so gentle it almost pains him. "Talk to me."

What else was left to say that she hadn't already heard secondhand? Pops had swindled him out of a meal, end of story. Not a big deal, and certainly not something worth whining to Akane about. Genma knocking him out cold wasn't that much of a surprise in retrospect, even if it meant the last thing Ranma remembered about that afternoon was his own father kicking him repeatedly in the head.

Right in front of Mom, too.

"I hate him sometimes," he doesn't realize how satisfying it feels to hear the words aloud until he actually says them. Akane's hand stiffens in his, stilling her caress.

"You don't mean that."

"Yes I do," Ranma growls. His voice is heavy with the weight of a lifetime's worth of scars, seen and unseen alike. "Greedy old bastard."

Maybe it's the depth of his stare or maybe she's just trying to distract him from his own thoughts, but the next thing Ranma knows Akane lifts his hand to graze her lips against the tendons of his knuckles. She plants a kiss at the crevice between his ring finger and pinky, then pulls back to rest her head against the crook of his shoulder. The novelty of that gesture, brief as it is, leaves him reeling.

"Akane?" Ranma's voice is thick with something. His mouth feels like a bag of rocks, full of useless words and half-baked sentiments. None of them seem good enough for what's really there, what makes his chest coil and twist and tighten whenever she's near him like this.

"I was worried about you," she exhales, partially muffled by the sleeve of his shirt. Akane's arms slowly wrap around his waist. Ranma responds to her touch, resting his palms on the small of her back.

"It's stupid," he insists, wavering despite his best efforts. "It's not like I expected him to lighten up all of a sudden."

"I'm sorry," she grips him tighter, edges her knees closer until they're resting against his thigh. He can't remember the last time they've been openly draped over one another like this, not without some meddler or snoop dropping in to ruin it for them.

"It's no big deal," Ranma lies, shrinking away from the intensity of the moment. "Don't be dramatic, tomboy."

Akane is silent for a while. In the waning light he can see her wilting with every passing second, eyes dark and half-lidded as something flashes across her face. His breath feels shallow at the sight of her, pulse surging.

"Should I go then?" she asks finally, looking up at him through the dark fan of her bangs. Ranma would swallow his tongue it if wasn't already glued to his mouth. Below them he can hear the clinking of china and glass as her family starts to gather for dinner, their laughter distant.

"N-no," he stutters, clutching her closer. "I want you to stay, Akane."

"Okay," she nods. "I'll stay."

* * *

AN: Ranma's dad is not a decent dad most of the time, so I figured every once in a while it's gotta weigh on him somewhat.

Also, one of my reviewers asked if there's any conclusion planned to these drabbles, to which the answer most definitely is yes! But it's most likely a long way from now, what with my ultimate goal being anywhere from 20 to 40 chapters.


	6. Yuudachi

**VI. Yuudachi**

* * *

Ranma and Akane sprint along the pavement and duck together below some shuttered storefront, shaking with adrenaline.

They'd been wandering back from Dr. Tofu's office. Ranma's sore throat had worsened over the last few days, calling for another dose of antibiotics. No sooner did they round the corner than a blanket of rain descended on the the alleyways around them, blurring the streetlights and flooding the canals until they ran over in effluence.

"I hate monsoon season," Ranma pants, fingers wrapping around her pigtail to squeeze the excess water out. Akane leans over to press her palms against her knees. Rain collects on her hairline, dripping down the slick surface of her cheeks until pooling at the apex of her chin.

"I should have carried an umbrella," she says, tucking a dampened strand behind her ear. Akane glances down at the shiny red exterior of her raincoat, feels her skin prickle and itch from the warmth of it. She fumbles with the buttons running down its side. One by one they come apart, unspooling her free.

"Me too," Ranma sniffs. "At least home's not far off."

"Want it?" Akane offers, casually shirking the material off of her shoulders. Ranma shakes her head, crosses her arms over the silk plastered to her own breasts. Akane cocks an eyebrow. She widens her stance, plants her feet as if to ready herself against an opponent's attack.

"C'mon," she shakes the jacket for emphasis, jostling a few droplets loose. "Don't be a dummy."

"I don't need it," Ranma grouses. Her training clothes are soaked through and rumpled, so heavy they drag down around the cinch of her waist. "Just cause I'm sick doesn't mean I'm a weakling, you know."

"Don't be a mule," Akane half-laughs, draping the coat over Ranma's shoulders. Her eyes run over the rosy tinge peeking out from the other girl's ear. The color creeps down her neck in scattered splotches, dotting her skin like so many little dwarf stars." It looks better on you anyways."

"Really?"

"Red's always been your color, right?" Akane smiles, brushing the lapels for emphasis. Her fingers linger where the drops have beaded, flicking them aside.

"Right," Ranma says, ducking away from her to look towards the worsening sky. "We gonna run for it?"

"Mm-hmn," Akane nods, reaching out to grab ahold of her fiancee's sleeve. The fabric moistens where her fingers grip. Tentatively, both girls begin stepping out from beneath the shadow of the awning. For a moment its as if they're suspended in space, caught in that in-between place where the howling of the wind is at once both distant and near.

They cling to one another the entire way. By the time the dojo's main entrance comes into view the two of them are breathless and laughing, hobbling up to the gates in mismatched steps. Ranma stops to sneak her arms around Akane. Smirking, she drags her inside the oversized coat until they're pressed up against one another, hands intertwined.

"You look good in red too," she says, bumping their foreheads together. Akane is grateful for the roar of the storm, how well it masks her thumping heart.

* * *

AN: Got caught in the hurricane this whole last week, so the prompt seemed pretty appropriate. Usually the chapter titles are pretty easily translatable, but this one's a little more obscure. In this case it's essentially:

Yuudachi - a sudden evening shower

I can't thank all of you enough for your wonderful reviews. Hearing that you guys relish these little snippets brightens my day and makes me so excited to keep writing. It's really reassuring to see people so excited to engage with these characters and contribute to the fandom and I feel really lucky to be a part of it!


	7. Randori

**VII. Randori**

* * *

Akane's a decent enough fighter on any given day, even if her form could use some fluidity. Her body is oftentimes rigid when it ought to be malleable, absorbing the odd blow when it should always be using an opponent's force against them. Still, what she lacks in style she manages to compensate for with methodical, practiced dedication. Most regular people wouldn't stand a chance against her.

Ranma isn't most people, though.

In one seamless motion he's pinned her to the ground, left arm snaking behind her neck while the other grips her wrist. Akane wiggles underneath him. She grits her teeth and pounds his back with her free hand, but it's no use. Ranma laughs, triumphant.

"Idiot," she grunts, wrapping her legs around his waist, digging her heels into the small of his back. "Let me go."

"Ask me nicer," he says, shifting more of his weight onto her chest. Akane's lashes flicker at the words. She's slicked all over with sweat and sebum, the neckline of her uwagi sliding lower with every exhalation. The pretense of sparring allows him to stare openly, quelling his bashfulness if only for a little while. He's always been a sucker for a challenge, especially one leveled against his own ego.

"As if," she barks, then stops to catch her breath." As if I would ever do that!"

"Suit yourself, tomboy. I got all day."

"Real funny," Akane deadpans, lifting herself up to look at him head-on. Ranma's stomach flutters pleasantly, the ensuing tingle migrating all the way up to the base of his throat. Even the nearness of her is overwhelming. "You're gonna regret that, Saotome."

"Oh please," he says, tightening his hold on her just in case."What are ya gonna do?" Akane flinches at the motion. Her cupid's bow curls into a twisted scowl, contorting the loveliness of her face.

"Fine then," she blinks, moving her lips forward to ghost over the crook of his shoulder. Akane's mouth is tender and dry against Ranma's skin. The sensation of it startles him to the core, pooling where his hipbones meet, making him feel warm and flushed all over. She draws away before nuzzling the spot again, rubbing her nose back and forth across his collarbone.

Ranma leaps off of her with an uncharacteristic yelp, eyes wide and unfocused. Goosebumps blossom along his forearms. He's so flustered by the sensation there's no time left to register her counterattack. Akane flips him cleanly onto the floor, knees pressed down on the center of his chest. Holding him in place with the sharp jab of her elbows, she grants him the smuggest little smile.

"Gotcha."

* * *

AN: Have some marshmallow fluff for the weekend!


	8. Burijji

**VIII. Burijji**

* * *

Something warm and painful radiates up the base of Akane's foot, pulsing visibly beneath the skin every second or so. The worst of her injury has already dulled down to a tolerable pang when Ranma finally finds her resting along a pedestrian bridge, cradling her heel in both hands and sniffling.

"What happened?" He asks her in way of a greeting, crouching down until he's near enough the recognize swollen pink tinge of a sprained ankle. Akane watches his eyes go wide at the sight of it.

"I hooked my foot on a grate," she exhales in a puff, voice shaky but still discernible. Beneath them, the electric hum of speeding cars and motorbikes venturing back and forth across the underpass make it difficult for her to hear herself talk. She clears her throat and tries again. "What are you doing here?"

"Kasumi sent me," Ranma frowns. Slowly, he tests a finger against the curve of her ankle. Akane sucks in a breath but manages not to cry out, chewing on her lower lip for purchase. "You were late and she was getting worried."

"How did you even find me?"

"You always take the same route on your jogs," Ranma shrugs, slowly but steadily stretching out the sole of her foot. " You really oughta be more careful about that, by the way."

He was right, of course. Given the manic menagerie of jealous fiancees invading her life in the last year alone it seemed pretty foolish on Akane's part to be running around Nerima every other day by herself, especially since she almost always took a similar path around the district. She makes a mental note to switch up her routine going forward. Maybe she can alternate between the city parks and the canals, anywhere new so long as it wasn't near the Cat's Cafe or the Kuno Estate.

Her thoughts are broken by the shock of toes being flexed against the protuberance of her foot, straining against the muscle.

"That hurts!" Akane hisses at the motion, reflexively yanks herself away. Something blurs at the edge of her vision. Ranma cringes, tilting back and easing his grip.

"Sorry," he offers weakly, ducking his head down so that his hair obscures the upper half of his face. Ranma's hands skim her heel again. The sensation this time around is pleasant but fleeting, dulled by the ache in Akane's overburdened nerves. Her heel jerks in response.

"It's twisted, I think," he says. Ranma elevates Akane's lower leg at the start of her kneecap. The squeeze of it tickles a little, makes her wiggle her toes despite the pain it spurs. "Won't know for sure until I get you home."

"Babysitting me now?" she teases, gingerly rubbing her palms against the front of her shorts. They're still raw from where she hit the cement, fingertips throbbing from the ache of the impact.

"You wish," he mutters, scowling down at her open hands. Ranma doesn't reach for them, thankfully, just leans in closer as if to get a better look at the scrapes. "Though maybe I should, considering what a klutz you are."

"Gee, thanks. I feel better already."

"C'mon," he shakes his head, stepping aside to hop up on the balls of his feet. "I'll get us back."

Akane is halfway through her signature rendition of "I can do it myself-" when she's hoisted up into Ranma arms in a single sweep, red-faced and shaking. It's just such an _effortless_ thing for him to do, the sort of physical intuitiveness she's always been a little envious it. Something intrinsic to Ranma alone, something that even a hundred years in a dojo probably wouldn't be able to teach her.

If only he wasn't always so patronizing about it.

"Not funny," she warns him, pushing herself against the breadth of his shoulders, shifting her hips back and forth in some effort to try and wiggle herself free. Ranma's palm is pleasantly rough beneath the flash of her thigh. His fingers spread below her upper back and along the underside of her knees, supporting her frame.

"Been hitting the sweets lately? You feel even heavier than usual."

"Jerk!" Akane shrieks, flailing her arms so wildly she almost tumbles out of his grip. Her ankle hurts again. She rakes her nails half-heartedly down the front of his shirt, snagging on the fabric. "Put me down, Ranma!"

"Just messing with you," he laughs, and the rumble in his chest reverberates against her own. It's the first real smile she's seen him wear all morning. "You're hopeless, you know that?"

"Whatever," Akane huffs at him. Her heart pumps out a staccato beat, partly from anger but also partly from the proximity of their bodies. "Doesn't mean you have to be so rude."

His eyes soften after that. The hand he has pressed against her back pushes upward, lifting her chest until she's close enough to rest her cheek on his shoulder. Akane allows herself to drape an arm around him. She lets out a sigh against Ranma's neck and feels his stance stiffen from the heat of it.

"Sorry, Akane," he says again. He bends down quickly to retrieve her discarded sneaker, handing it to her before starting to make his way across the bridge. Akane smooths a palm down the back of Ranma's neck. The weight of the sun on her face is starting to make her feel dizzy and mellow, baking the apples of her cheeks.

"S'okay," she mumbles, looking away from him. "Let's go home."

* * *

AN: Made this drabble a bit longer to make up for the recent lull in updating. Most of that is due to the fact that I've just finished up a massive physics test I spent the better part of the last two weeks studying for, basically draining me of all further motivation and drive. Happy Halloween!


	9. Furo

**IX. Furo**

* * *

"Hello?"

He's halfway down the hall when Akane's voice rings out from within the bath. Ranma's feet bounce mid-step, shoulders following suit. His mind, as always, processes things last.

She shouts again. Her voice is thin and stretched tight like the skin of a drum, the words tinged with desperation. No one else is here at the moment, hasn't been since Kasumi led the rest of them to tea at Nodoka's place. He'd stayed behind to train by himself, not entirely up to dealing with both of his parents at the same time.

"Is anyone back yet?"

Akane had stuck around too, apparently.

Swallowing hard, Ranma whips his head sideways and rap his knuckles against the sliding door. The sound of something splashing around follows suit. He tries not to think about it too much.

"Nabiki! Is that you?" he hears on the other side of the partition, muffled slightly by the ensuing echo. Ranma's fingers are warm where they graze the bamboo edifice, the wood darkened with vapor. He clears his throat and shuffles his legs.

"Um, not this time."

"Ranma!" Another splash, this one followed by the clap of water hitting tile. He tightens his grip on the door, straightens his back so that he's not stooping over the screen like an eager lech or something. Akane always has a tendency to assume the worst from these awkward situations, not that he could really blame her.

"y-yeah," he sighs, looks away even though he knows she can't see him. "Sorry."

"Where's everyone else?"

"They're not back yet," his tone is surprisingly meek, shaky even. "Mom must've kept them over for lunch too."

"Oh," Akane's disappointment is so palpable it actually makes Ranma cringe. He makes to turn back around when she speaks up again. "Can you help me then?"

"You want me?" His voice actually cracks this time, hitching his vocal chords. Ranma's free hand clenches weakly into a fist."

"My brace fell into the bottom of the tub. I need Kasumi's first-aid kit so that I can wrap my ankle again."

"Where is it?"

"On the other side of the house, underneath her desk."

"You're not," he pauses, tries to string his statement together in the least offensive way possible. "You're not dressed, right?"

"I have a towel with me," she blurts out. "It's not like I planned on this happening, you know."

"Okay," Ranma lowers his head, jaw set into a straight line. "Hold on, I'll be right back."

Mercifully enough, Kasumi's bedroom isn't locked. Ranma takes a moment to mentally thank her for being so well-organized before he swipes the white suitcase from beneath her desk chair. He stubs his toe on the way out, nearly tripping over a potted plant near the entrance.

The bamboo door is just as he left it. Tentatively, Ranma slides it aside. A rush of wet, tepid air wafts in around him, fogging his vision. The little yelp Akane lets out in response is more out of habit than necessity.

"I'm not looking," he warns, setting the kit down on the bathroom floor. He stands back up to rest the ball of his foot against it.

"You better not be," Akane replies, tremulous. A year ago she would have followed up that phrase with a threat of violence against him. Ranma would have barked back that there was nothing of hers worth peeking at anyways and their exchange would have ended with her furiously boxing his ears. He might have even seen her naked for a second or two, though not intentionally.

Things carry a different weight nowadays. Ranma teases her less often, butting heads more out of playfulness than anything else. Akane's occasional jabs at his overblown ego border on flirtatiousness. It's not as if either of them are unaware of what's really happening. It's not as if they're both as clueless as they've been pretending to be, despite everyone else's best efforts.

Ranma shoves the thought away. He's got no use for it now.

"Here," he grunts instead, pushing the plastic case towards her with his leg while the rest of his body is angled away. "Can you reach it yet?"

"Yup," she says. Ranma hears the snap of the clasp coming undone. There's a jostling sound too, and then a deep exhalation on her end. "Enough gauze left, thank goodness."

"Great," he nods quickly, practically leaping across the room to reach the opposite side. It's much cooler out in the hallway. His face, however, is still unbearably warm. "Uh, I'm gonna go now."

"Ranma?"

Fingers stall on the sliding door. A miniature silence stretches out between them, interrupted only by the incessant drip of a leaky faucet.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," Akane blurts out a little too loudly. "For helping me, I guess. I really do appreciate it."

"It's nothing," he lies, runs a clammy hand through his bangs. His pulse refuses to cooperate. It pounds in his ears, reverberating.

"Don't tell anyone, okay?"

"Don't worry," he looks up, sucking in a breath. Ranma tries not to think about the softness in Akane's words, the pleading quality of her voice. He tries not to wonder at what can't be seen beyond the screen, tries not to conjure his own memories either; their accidental glances at one another, red-faced and embarrassed and at the reality of their own anatomies. How many afternoons had he spent afterwards alone, cataloging every flash of skin?

The curvature of Akane's thigh, the shallow dip of her hipbone. Arms crossed over her chest, elbows jutted out.

"I won't say anything."

* * *

AN: Dedicated to the sweet soul who asked for a bit of holiday cheer. Hope it's not too late!


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